


It's Always Greener On the Other Side

by lavendermatrix



Category: Soul Eater
Genre: Adultery, Get your tissues ready, Household Abuse, Modern AU, Not Really Character Death, Other, Permanent Injury, Physical Abuse, Relationship Abuse, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, reverb 2018, with a little touch of supernatural magic n stuff, yea this one's sad, yikes uuuhhhhh
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-20
Updated: 2018-07-20
Packaged: 2019-06-13 21:13:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15373434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lavendermatrix/pseuds/lavendermatrix
Summary: "He who envies others does not obtain peace of mind" (Buddha)Soul has all the things he's wanted: a good job, someone to love, and great friends to hang out with. Listening to his brother's music reminds him of what he doesn't have, though: musical fame traditionally passed down the Evans' line. He's always lived in his brother's shadow, invisible to the crowds. One wish can change all of that, though, and along with that comes the price that can't be foreseen.





	It's Always Greener On the Other Side

**Author's Note:**

> Reverb 2018, let's go! 
> 
> This was originally suppossed to be posted a while back....in June....but ya girl got Busy..,
> 
> Many, many, many thanks to Pierce for the everlasting patience during this journey...i owe you my entire left arm...for realsies...you're da mvp ily
> 
> Anywho's! Make sure to check out piercelovewonton's artwork over at her tumblr! (they include some spoilers for later in the story, but it's totes worth it with her art!) 
> 
> This whole part is just me playing the pronoun game for too long.....H.  
> Next part comes out next week! Enjoy~

Soul

He never liked bowties. Always found them stupid and funny-looking from a young age. 

So, when he’s preparing for his brother’s first solo recital and his nana forces him to wear the stupid-looking green bowtie (why would his parents make him wear dark green? It’s the worst shade of green!) for his brother’s stupid recital, he almost throws a fit. 

“But I don’t even want to go!” He whines to Anna, the one nana who could work around the youngest Evans’ defiant nature without any major complaint. “Wes doesn’t even go to my practices…” 

Anna laughs good-naturedly at Soul’s pouty face and crossed arms. She finishes tying up the (ugly green) bowtie to his suit in a knot she knows he won’t be able to untie. 

“Soul, darling.” She says, kneeling down to meet him eye-to-eye. “You have to remember that you’re part of the Evans family. Your brother is as good as he is for his age because he goes to practice. Every day. And he doesn’t complain whenever you can’t show up because of your lessons or outings with your mother. So, be a good boy and be on your best behavior tonight.” 

He averts his eyes from her large, brown ones. She may have a good point, but Soul didn’t want to listen to Anne at the moment. 

“If your parents tell me you were on your best behavior, I’ll make sure you never have to wear a bowtie again. I’ll tell them it makes your neck all itchy and gross, how does that sound?”

Maybe he’ll spare an ear to her this time. 

“C’mon,” she says, straightening up and smoothing down his suit. “Your ride is waiting for you.” 

At the concert venue, he’s sitting alone in the front row, two empty seats to either side of him. His parents spent most of their time backstage, making sure Wes was well-hydrated and free from any type of stress. 

Soul gets it.

They’re barely there for the few times Soul actually attends his own practices. They found and cultivated Wes’s talent from the moment he felt the smooth touch of the violin when he was a child. 

Wes was supposed to show up on stage half an hour ago. By now, he knows that concerts never start on time. His father says the audience has to be patient for a good show. 

He hopes that they’re very, very patient for Wes Evans’s premiere as star violinist. From this point on, he would be raised on a pedestal. A pedestal never meant for the average twelve-year old, but for the average heir to the Evans family name. 

Wes was the star child of the Evans family; their crown jewel. 

There’s nothing wrong with that, Soul thinks. 

Nothing wrong. 

Absolutely nothing. 

He needs to get better at lying, he thinks. 

 

Wes.

His hands are trembling. 

Why, why, why did he agree to this? He’s only twelve years old? Any other twelve-year-old should be setting their alarm clock to watch Saturday morning cartoons by this time of night but nooo, he had to agree to a stupid recital to do a few songs he was sure he knew by heart. 

Did he, though? 

“Wes, sweetie, please calm yourself!” His mother, Mrs. Evans, hisses at him. “Your hair’s a mess and you’re going to make us look bad!”

“Eileen, don’t say that!” Mr. Evans whisper-shouts at her. “The boy’s nervous enough as it is”

Eileen smooths down his hair. Well, attempts to. He inherited his grandmother’s thick locks. 

“Well, what do you suggest, Eric? That we cancel the concert after all our-I mean-his guests showed up?!” 

Yes, god. Please.

Wes sends a pleading look to his father, hoping to convey the feeling of Please, please, I’m not ready yet. 

I’m not ready to make a fool of myself in front of your friends and trusted colleagues.

“No.” Eric sighs out. “It’s already too late and who knows what the Garners will say if we cancel.” 

“Wes, sweetie.” Eileen says sternly, stiffly cupping Wes’ chin with her manicured hand, “You need to do this. It’ll only last an hour, and then we can go home.” 

So, he steels his nerves. 

He plays as perfect as he can allow himself to. The crowd ooh’s and aah’s but only one reaction stands above the rest. 

Soul’s.

His poor little brother, left out of the spotlight of the Evans’ fame. He’s staring up at awe when Wes drags out the final note flawlessly. His wide eyes and slack jaw do more for Wes than the loud standing ovation by the mass before him. 

He hopes Soul can learn the truth about the spotlight before he’s too old. 

Too much time in the spotlight can burn your skin and eyes. 

 

Maka. 

When Maka first watched her parents’ wedding video, she felt the surge of bittersweet take over her. 

She was 7 years old when her papa held her tightly on top of his lap while watching the tape. She remembered the loud, obnoxious sniffing from her father and her struggling to focus to the video. 

Her mother, her beautiful, strong mother, appearing more beautiful in a white dress that fit her and the bump like a glove. Her papa, overly sentimental and silly at times, in a tuxedo that’s one size too big for him, looking younger than eighteen with his hair tied in a ponytail. Both were dancing to a romantic, jazzy beat to a small crowd, clearly enamored with each other. 

Both were living in their own little world, entrapped in the color of their eyes.

As if nothing else existed. 

She wondered where that little world went to after her mama left the house. Did her Papa take care of the world by himself? Or, did they both share a piece? Who had the bigger piece? 

“Papa,” Maka whispered, as she writhed against Spirit’s tight hold, “why was mommy smiling so big in your wedding?” 

Spirit drew out a long, shaky sigh. Hm, not good. 

“Maka, sweetie…Sometimes, people who fall in love with each other simply…fall out of love, I guess.” Without moving too much, he paused the video in the perfect shot of Maka’s mother laughing brightly as Spirit twirled her around. “Your mother and I were sadly one of the few that had that happen. It sucks, but it just happens.” 

She expected him to continue, but instead he flopped back on the bed and shut his eyes. Maka took the signal and turned off the TV, plunging the room in total darkness, save for the moonlight filtering in through the curtains. She spared one last look at her father, already fast asleep and fled to her room. 

Turning on her bedside lamp, the room lit up in an old, yellowy glow. She knelt down on the floor and shot her arm underneath her bed, where the large shoebox made contact with her fingers quickly. She slipped it over the plush pink carpet and uncovered the lid. 

“Where is it…” Maka whispered to herself as she looked for the one thing she was looking for. 

Aha!

The glittery cover of the small heart-covered notebook was whisked away as Maka opened a blank page near the end of the thick notebook. This notebook was very special to Maka. She never let anyone see it. Not her father’s numerous girlfriends. Not Tsu. Not Blake. Nobody.

Nobody could know she wanted a perfect romance. She never liked to tell this to others. They all said she would follow her parents’ footsteps. 

“You’re gonna run away just like your mother!”

“You’re going to two-time on your husband!”

“No, no, Tommy! More like three-time on him!” 

She never told her father. He had enough trouble as it is. 

She grabbed the first pen she felt from the box and in messy script, wrote down in purple ink, 

never, ever fall out of love. 

it can’t just happen, it can be prevented

Satisfied with her resolution, she climbed atop of her bed and peeled the comforter away and shut off the lamp. She clutched the notebook tight to her chest. She hoped (maybe prayed to whoever was listening to her childish thoughts at the time) that whoever she would end up with was someone who could fall more and more in love with her every day. 

Maybe, with enough wishing, it could be possible. 

She held the notebook tightly and slept soundly that night. 

She found it useful for falling asleep at times. 

Usually on nights when she doesn’t think too much about her mother. 

 

Tsubaki and Black Star.

They’ve been inseparable. 

Both the opposite sides of Maka’s friendship.

Since the beginning.

Till the end of the line.

Blake could be a little boastful and rowdy in front of Tsu and Maka.

Maka found it annoying (as per usual), but Tsubaki found it endearing.

Well, let’s find these two out. 

 

Liz. 

It’s not our fault she had to leave. 

Liz always whispered those words to Patty (and herself) before they went to bed on their bare mattress in their shitty apartment. Granted, it was in the warehouse district of town, where the city folk left their trash out on the curb. 

Liz made sure to scour as much as she could of it. Always find the tossed coins and tossed clothes and tossed mattresses. Always to give her loving little sister the life they never had (and most probably would never have). 

She notices. Whenever Patty tries to eat less from their value meal to leave more for Liz. It always breaks Liz’s heart (and makes her stomach grumble at the sight of Patty devouring the last soggy French fry). 

It’s not my fault she left us. 

Liz wasn’t sure who she was trying to convince anymore. 

In the very least, Patty was happy. 

Liz was sixteen and Patty was eleven when they last heard from their mother. Apparently, she overdosed on heroin and was found in an alleyway swarmed by all types of bugs. 

She was the one who taught them how to hide, how to look in the trash without getting caught. How to use the ocean water to scrub out hand-me-down stains.

Yet, it’s because of me that we’re both alive. 

That should be enough. 

It should be. 

 

Patty.

Patty thinks her sister tries too hard sometimes. 

As Liz pats her head while lulling themselves to sleep, Patty can clearly hear the grumbles her sister’s stomach makes. It makes Patty wish she tried harder on pretending not to be too hungry so Liz could at least feed herself better.   
It was the very least Patty could do for her big sis. 

She loves Liz. Liz had to take care of her when their mother bailed on them too soon. 

She knows Liz loves her, too. Like a mother. An older sister. A best friend, too. 

There had to be something she could do. Just to show her appreciation better. Other than cleaning the house on the long days when Liz is gone working arduous hours at retail for below the minimum wage (Patty did her research and knew that Liz was being payed less than the minimum wage, for whatever stupid reason their boss deemed worthy) and searching for whatever job she could find at eleven. 

Life hasn’t been kind to them. 

But it doesn’t mean she can’t kick life’s butt with kindness. 

Life won’t know what hit the bitch. 

She’s lulled to sleep by her sister’s grumbles and the siren wails in the distance. 

 

Spirit 

He never wanted to disappoint his daughter. 

He could have tried harder, though. 

He used to be happy, young, filled with glee! 

And he threw it all away. All for nothing. All on a whim! 

Nothing can describe the general shame he feels when he’s around Maka. She could have had the perfect, happy childhood. Both her happy, young, gleeful parents raising the perfect child. 

Together. 

But…one thing led to another, and another, and another…

And a few others.   
And then she was gone. Leaving a set of papers and a postcard from the Grand Canyon for Maka behind. 

He used to be a bit playful when he was younger, always hung out and hitting up bars and drowning his nonexistent sorrows in beer that Stein bought for him. 

Until, he laid eyes on a literal goddess when he was sixteen. 

She was playful, and kind, and sweet, and perfect in every way that he wasn’t. She was way, way out of his league. But she made him feel loved and cared for everyway beer couldn’t. 

A year later, he (foolishly, stupidly) asked him to make him the happiest man in the planet. It wasn’t special. A date on the beach that ran too late into the dead of the night and her smile illuminated even the sand below them when he simply said, 

“Marry me.” 

And without skipping a beat she answered, 

“About time, Albarn.” 

Every time she kissed him felt like magic. 

Even after his family refused to come to the wedding after learning that she was pregnant (with the most perfect child any parent could ever ask for), he could not help wiping his tears away as she walked down the short aisle. She was…stunning didn’t fit it. 

“Wow”

“You clean up very nice, yourself, Mr. Albarn.” 

“You pull off that dress rather nicely, Mrs. Albarn.” 

“Shhh! Not yet” She giggled

Their reception was short-lived, as was their honeymoon. Maka came two weeks before the due date while Spirit and Kami were out paddle boarding by the lake. 

“Maybe she’s a good swimmer…?”

“Shut up and drive, Spirit.” 

They both fell in love with their bundle of joy. 

“She has your eyes.”

“Nah, she has your cute smile. And cute little button nose. And the even cuter freckles. Yep, she’s definitely our daughter.” 

She smiled tiredly that day, yet it was the second most beautiful he’s seen his wife. 

He rented out a two-bedroom cramped apartment for them to settle in. The windows mostly faced a dark alleyway, but it beat the view of his in-laws’ basement.

It did, it did. 

Their first fight came when Maka was only a year old. 

Having grown up without a filter, both of them lashed out constantly at each other. Shoving poison jabs at each other without remorse. Their voices raising dangerously every second until their daughter’s cries cut them out. 

Scared of what they’d done, both dashed to the nursery and Spirit gingerly lifted Maka from her crib. 

“Hush, hush, hush. Everything’s fine now.” 

Kami had the gall to look a bit ashamed. 

“Spirit, I’m-”

“Not now.”

“But!”

“Kami…not now, I said. Does Maka have any food in the fridge?” 

“…Yes, she does. I’ll go fetch it now.”

When Kami left the room, Spirit looked to his frazzled daughter. 

“Don’t worry, girl. Mommy and daddy were just having a…little disagreement over nothing. It’s not something to worry about.” 

Kami’s smile wasn’t as bright as it was before. 

After a year and a half of fighting, Spirit packed a suitcase and left in the middle of the night. 

Spirit woke to the left side of his bed empty and cold. When he got to Maka’s room, he found a half-made bag left on the changing station. An unfinished project, clearly. Inside, there was a yellow folded note written in Kami’s eloquent cursive. He struggled to read it.

Whether it was the tears or the cursive, he doesn’t know to this day. 

Spirit, 

I wanted to take Maka, but I figured she deserves to be with the better of the two of us. 

Sorry for leaving you in this mess. 

Please do not try to find me. I’m okay, I promise. 

Tell Maka her mama loves her every day. 

Don’t think that I don’t love you anymore, love. 

I’ll always love you. 

Take care of yourself, 

Kami. 

He woke Maka with his shamelessly loud sobs. 

After a few weeks, Stein started coming over and keeping him company. When Stein Wasn’t there, he enjoyed the company of the radio and a can (just one) of light beer.

A couple of weeks after that, in the dead of night, he woke up to the sound of his name. A familiar sound from a familiar voice. 

“Spirit.”

With a jolt, he sprang upright on his bed and flipped on the lamp. Kami was standing at the doorway of his (no, their) room.

“Sweetie…? What are you doing here?” He grumbled

“Just to get the rest of my things.”

Oh

“Oh, I see. Are you, um…staying at your parents’?”

“I thought I told you not to ask for me.” 

“You’re still my wife, I should at least know where you are. So I know you’re safe.” 

Spirit was quiet for a minute and opened the closet and started shoving in all her clothes, hangers included. 

“I’m sorry, Spirit.”

“Hm?”

“I no longer want to be your wife. I’m sending out the papers tomorrow afternoon. The office expects to have them by the end of the month.”

He feels like a pile of bricks slammed on his gut.

“B-but-”

“No buts. We-we fought almost every day, Spirit.” She gives him a look. Not the same look she gave him when they were both younger and in love, but a cold one that sends shivers down his spine. “I don’t want Maka to grow up with such a family.” 

Oh

“You can take your time with the papers, it’s the first, after all.”

Spirit stares at his (ex?) wife for a few minutes while she packs.

“Are you going to take Maka with you?” he asked quietly

Kami sighs.

“No. I’m not fit to take care of her. I’m sure you can raise her better than I will.”

“Why’s that?”

“Hm?”

“Well, I mean-!” He laughs, because what else can he do here? “Babe, you were practically the head of the house! Without you, we wouldn’t have had all those home-cooked meals, and-!”

“I taught you how to make them. Plus, I left a recipe box in the top drawer, so you can teach Maka later.” 

“Babe, I trust you. Just…please promise me you’re going to take care of yourself.”

“If you promise to take care of yourself and Maka in return. And…please make sure to send photos. My number’s on the recipe book.”

He takes a deep breath.

“Deal.”

**Author's Note:**

> Will be updating once a week on Fridays until I finish it! Stay tuned for updates on my tumblr! 
> 
> lavendermatrix.tumblr.com  
> piercelovewonton.tumblr.com 
> 
>  
> 
> H


End file.
